


Takeaways And Too Much Information

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: My Family (And Other Dinosaurs) [5]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-31
Updated: 2009-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester spends the one-year-anniversary of his divorce with his best friend, and Emily Sayers fails at subtlety in everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Takeaways And Too Much Information

            It was one of those nights. Work had been a catastrophe, and it showed on his face; when he came home Liz had hugged him and retreated quickly to her room to do homework and waste time on Facebook.

 

            There was a knock on the door, and he got up to answer it. Dr. Emily Sayers bounded through, kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him, and exclaimed in her usual carrying voice: “James, darling! You have that _look_ on your face.”

 

            Lester sighed. Emily Sayers was perhaps his closest non-related friend. She was the only single parent among all the parents of Liz’s year, and although Lester was only recently divorced for all the interaction Liz allowed her mother in her life he might as well have been a single father, not to mention the fact that she refused to be intimidated by him and always had done: she’d been a great comfort during the worst stages of the divorce, turning up on his doorstep for hugs and alcohol and square meals and terrible, terrible movies. She had also instituted a regular day of the week when she turned up at the flat with a decent bottle of wine and ordered takeaway for them.

 

            Really, how could he have forgotten it was Friday?

 

            He dragged his brain back to relevancies. “What look, Emily?”

 

            “The look that says you have been acting in a manner not commensurate with the fair and above-board functioning of a democracy, and it pisses you the hell off.”

 

            Lester took a moment to process this. “Close enough,” he admitted at last.

 

            “I knew it!” Emily said, and hugged him again. “Poor baby. Chinese or Indian?”

            “You choose,” Lester sighed. “I’m not in a fit state to make decisions.”

 

            “Are you in a fit state to drink alcohol and take orders?” Emily demanded practically.

 

            Lester raised an eyebrow at her. “Not at the same time.”

 

            “You’ll do! Here.” She thrust a bottle of wine into his hands. “I have unilaterally decided that we are having Chinese. Go and uncork this and put some in glasses. Was it a really honestly terrible day?”

 

            Lester sighed again, uncorking the wine. “South African white goes with Chinese?”

 

            “It does,” Emily declared, bouncing up onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. “I say so, therefore it does. Also we have not ordered yet and you don’t know what we’re having, so. Go and get a menu when you’re done there. Behind the clock.”

 

            “There are no menus behind my clock!”

 

            “Yes there are. I put them there.”

 

            “My cleaning lady will have moved them.”

 

            “No she won’t. She thinks I’m right and you need feeding up!” Emily poked Lester in the stomach for emphasis.

 

            He glared. “Kindly refrain from doing that when I’m trying to pour the wine.”

 

            Emily stuck her tongue out at him.

 

            “That is _childish_.”

 

            “So is not answering my question,” Emily retorted, trapping him neatly. “Terrible day?”

            “Yes,” Lester said reluctantly. “And it’s all classified, except for the bit where Kathy rang me up in my lunch hour to complain about Liz making sure she didn’t get her school reports- Kathy getting Liz’s reports, that is –or invites to parents’ evenings.”

 

            “Oh _burn_ ,” Emily said sympathetically. “Liz really doesn’t like her mum, does she.”

 

            “No. They’re going through a very bad patch,” Lester admitted.

 

            “Why?”

            “Two weeks ago Kathy called CCF a blatant recruiting tool for an instrument of slaughter and castigated me for allowing Liz to join. She wanted to know if I wanted my daughter to become a part of said instrument of slaughter and die young and violently.”

 

            “Christ on a piece of toast! James, I know you used to be in love with her, bu-“

 

            “I know, I _know_ ,” Lester interrupted, and sighed yet again. Emily pushed his wineglass towards him; he nodded thankfully at her, picked it up, and took a sip. “When she called me this morning, she... became rather personal... and made some unfounded accusations...”

 

            “Mm,” Emily said, and her eyes were full of sympathy. She reached out and gripped his shoulder gently. “I told you about the part where Juliet’s father called me a stupid whore for getting pregnant?” Lester’s head shot up and he stared at her. “No, I see I did not. Or the time where I took her to see him, because, you know, she does have a right to know who her father is? Do you know what she did?”

            “Did he really say that to you?” Lester demanded, furious on her behalf.

 

            “Really really.”

 

            “What’s his name?”

 

            “Uh-uh.” She waved a finger at him. “No revenge. I already broke his nose and outstripped him professionally, and Juliet called him a bastard who hurt her mummy and bit him.”

 

            In spite of himself, he laughed. “How old was she at the time?”

            “Seven,” Emily winced. “I think my language leaves something to be desired. I’m a bad mother.”

 

            This time, he laughed properly, and she laughed with him, and then got down to grab the menus – which were, in fact, behind the clock. They ordered, and sat talking for a while, waiting for their orders to arrive.

 

            “How are you doing on the significant other front?” Emily demanded, swirling her second glass of wine in the glass.

 

            Lester raised an eyebrow at her, but she just stared insistently back, and he gave in. “There’s no-one.”

 

            Emily shrugged. “It’s hardly like there’s pressure. I mean, you only got divorced- last year, isn’t it? Ooh, almost to the day.”

 

            “It...” Lester had a very funny feeling inside. “It _is_ the day, actually.”

 

            Emily’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God. James, I am so sorry for reminding you.”

            “No- no, it’s fine,” he dismissed, and found, to his surprise, that it was- more or less. When Kathy wasn’t being vitriolic or freezing him out, and as long as the boys kept in contact with him (although Nicky’s simmering anger was a constant ache), he managed well enough. He found a smile for Emily, who smiled back in relief.

 

            “I sometimes think you need to get laid, that’s all,” she explained disarmingly, crossing her legs at the knee. “You’re too strait-laced, and I suspect you could use a chance to let go.”

 

            He arched an eyebrow at her. “Did you just proposition me, Emily Anne Sayers?”

 

            Emily grimaced. “What have I told you about using my full name? Where did you get hold of it, anyway?”

            It was one of those nights. Work had been a catastrophe, and it showed on his face; when he came home Liz had hugged him and retreated quickly to her room to do homework and waste time on Facebook.

 

            There was a knock on the door, and he got up to answer it. Dr. Emily Sayers bounded through, kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him, and exclaimed in her usual carrying voice: “James, darling! You have that _look_ on your face.”

 

            Lester sighed. Emily Sayers was perhaps his closest non-related friend. She was the only single parent among all the parents of Liz’s year, and although Lester was only recently divorced for all the interaction Liz allowed her mother in her life he might as well have been a single father, not to mention the fact that she refused to be intimidated by him and always had done: she’d been a great comfort during the worst stages of the divorce, turning up on his doorstep for hugs and alcohol and square meals and terrible, terrible movies. She had also instituted a regular day of the week when she turned up at the flat with a decent bottle of wine and ordered takeaway for them.

 

            Really, how could he have forgotten it was Friday?

 

            He dragged his brain back to relevancies. “What look, Emily?”

 

            “The look that says you have been acting in a manner not commensurate with the fair and above-board functioning of a democracy, and it pisses you the hell off.”

 

            Lester took a moment to process this. “Close enough,” he admitted at last.

 

            “I knew it!” Emily said, and hugged him again. “Poor baby. Chinese or Indian?”

            “You choose,” Lester sighed. “I’m not in a fit state to make decisions.”

 

            “Are you in a fit state to drink alcohol and take orders?” Emily demanded practically.

 

            Lester raised an eyebrow at her. “Not at the same time.”

 

            “You’ll do! Here.” She thrust a bottle of wine into his hands. “I have unilaterally decided that we are having Chinese. Go and uncork this and put some in glasses. Was it a really honestly terrible day?”

 

            Lester sighed again, uncorking the wine. “South African white goes with Chinese?”

 

            “It does,” Emily declared, bouncing up onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. “I say so, therefore it does. Also we have not ordered yet and you don’t know what we’re having, so. Go and get a menu when you’re done there. Behind the clock.”

 

            “There are no menus behind my clock!”

 

            “Yes there are. I put them there.”

 

            “My cleaning lady will have moved them.”

 

            “No she won’t. She thinks I’m right and you need feeding up!” Emily poked Lester in the stomach for emphasis.

 

            He glared. “Kindly refrain from doing that when I’m trying to pour the wine.”

 

            Emily stuck her tongue out at him.

 

            “That is _childish_.”

 

            “So is not answering my question,” Emily retorted, trapping him neatly. “Terrible day?”

            “Yes,” Lester said reluctantly. “And it’s all classified, except for the bit where Kathy rang me up in my lunch hour to complain about Liz making sure she didn’t get her school reports- Kathy getting Liz’s reports, that is –or invites to parents’ evenings.”

 

            “Oh _burn_ ,” Emily said sympathetically. “Liz really doesn’t like her mum, does she.”

 

            “No. They’re going through a very bad patch,” Lester admitted.

 

            “Why?”

            “Two weeks ago Kathy called CCF a blatant recruiting tool for an instrument of slaughter and castigated me for allowing Liz to join. She wanted to know if I wanted my daughter to become a part of said instrument of slaughter and die young and violently.”

 

            “Christ on a piece of toast! James, I know you used to be in love with her, bu-“

 

            “I know, I _know_ ,” Lester interrupted, and sighed yet again. Emily pushed his wineglass towards him; he nodded thankfully at her, picked it up, and took a sip. “When she called me this morning, she... became rather personal... and made some unfounded accusations...”

 

            “Mm,” Emily said, and her eyes were full of sympathy. She reached out and gripped his shoulder gently. “I told you about the part where Juliet’s father called me a stupid whore for getting pregnant?” Lester’s head shot up and he stared at her. “No, I see I did not. Or the time where I took her to see him, because, you know, she does have a right to know who her father is? Do you know what she did?”

            “Did he really say that to you?” Lester demanded, furious on her behalf.

 

            “Really really.”

 

            “What’s his name?”

 

            “Uh-uh.” She waved a finger at him. “No revenge. I already broke his nose and outstripped him professionally, and Juliet called him a bastard who hurt her mummy and bit him.”

 

            In spite of himself, he laughed. “How old was she at the time?”

            “Seven,” Emily winced. “I think my language leaves something to be desired. I’m a bad mother.”

 

            This time, he laughed properly, and she laughed with him, and then got down to grab the menus – which were, in fact, behind the clock. They ordered, and sat talking for a while, waiting for their orders to arrive.

 

            “How are you doing on the significant other front?” Emily demanded, swirling her second glass of wine in the glass.

 

            Lester raised an eyebrow at her, but she just stared insistently back, and he gave in. “There’s no-one.”

 

            Emily shrugged. “It’s hardly like there’s pressure. I mean, you only got divorced- last year, isn’t it? Ooh, almost to the day.”

 

            “It...” Lester had a very funny feeling inside. “It _is_ the day, actually.”

 

            Emily’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God. James, I am so sorry for reminding you.”

            “No- no, it’s fine,” he dismissed, and found, to his surprise, that it was- more or less. When Kathy wasn’t being vitriolic or freezing him out, and as long as the boys kept in contact with him (although Nicky’s simmering anger was a constant ache), he managed well enough. He found a smile for Emily, who smiled back in relief.

 

            “I sometimes think you need to get laid, that’s all,” she explained disarmingly, crossing her legs at the knee. “You’re too strait-laced, and I suspect you could use a chance to let go.”

 

            He arched an eyebrow at her. “Did you just proposition me, Emily Anne Sayers?”

 

            Emily grimaced. “What have I told you about using my full name? Where did you get hold of it, anyway?”

            Lester just smiled serenely, withheld the information that since Emily was employed by the government on classified research, it was relatively easy for James Peregrine Lester, government hatchet man, to get hold of the relevant details, and waited for her to answer. He knew she would. She rarely flinched from even the most personal questions.

 

            “Anyway.” She frowned, pursing her lips, and then looked at him frankly, her eyes running up and down his body. “Not really. I mean, I _might_. We could work quite well as fuck-buddies, I suppose, but we both need something deeper than that in a relationship, and it would just be mutually unsatisfying no matter how good the sex was. And you’re not bad-looking, James, but you know I like my men less tied to a desk.” She smirked. “Although I have been known to wonder what you’d look like out of a suit.”

 

            He choked on his wine and turned pink about the ears, and she went off into a peal of laughter. “Too much information? You asked for it, James!”

 

            He glared at her, and she only laughed harder, and then the takeaway arrived. They took delivery of it, setting out the foil-covered boxes on the counter and peeling away the foil, putting the food on plates, and giving Liz her share when she turned up to ask for it and returned to her room. They were eating, sitting comfortably on the sofa, Emily having kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the coffee table, which made Lester raise his eyebrows but which he knew better to object to, when he suddenly put an arm around her and hugged her close.

 

            “I’m glad you’re my friend,” he said into her hair. “And I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

 

            She didn’t say anything; she didn’t need to. She just put her free arm around him and hugged him back. “You’re okay, James,” she said softly. “You know that? And you know that just because I’m not interested in a relationship with you doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone else out there who fancies the pants off you? I know you feel wrung-out and exhausted now, but you will be happy again.”

 

            Sometimes, times like this, he really wished he could tell her about the ARC. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but instead he just said: “I know.”

 

            Emily sort of chuckled and elbowed him in the ribs and teased: “In your own time, James,” and he sighed impatiently and requested her to desist enacting actual bodily harm on his person, and she laughed at him, and they were back to normal.

           

            Lester just smiled serenely, withheld the information that since Emily was employed by the government on classified research, it was relatively easy for James Peregrine Lester, government hatchet man, to get hold of the relevant details, and waited for her to answer. He knew she would. She rarely flinched from even the most personal questions.

 

            “Anyway.” She frowned, pursing her lips, and then looked at him frankly, her eyes running up and down his body. “Not really. I mean, I _might_. We could work quite well as fuck-buddies, I suppose, but we both need something deeper than that in a relationship, and it would just be mutually unsatisfying no matter how good the sex was. And you’re not bad-looking, James, but you know I like my men less tied to a desk.” She smirked. “Although I have been known to wonder what you’d look like out of a suit.”

 

            He choked on his wine and turned pink about the ears, and she went off into a peal of laughter. “Too much information? You asked for it, James!”

 

            He glared at her, and she only laughed harder, and then the takeaway arrived. They took delivery of it, setting out the foil-covered boxes on the counter and peeling away the foil, putting the food on plates, and giving Liz her share when she turned up to ask for it and returned to her room. They were eating, sitting comfortably on the sofa, Emily having kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the coffee table, which made Lester raise his eyebrows but which he knew better to object to, when he suddenly put an arm around her and hugged her close.

 

            “I’m glad you’re my friend,” he said into her hair. “And I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

 

            She didn’t say anything; she didn’t need to. She just put her free arm around him and hugged him back. “You’re okay, James,” she said softly. “You know that? And you know that just because I’m not interested in a relationship with you doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone else out there who fancies the pants off you? I know you feel wrung-out and exhausted now, but you will be happy again.”

 

            Sometimes, times like this, he really wished he could tell her about the ARC. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but instead he just said: “I know.”

 

            Emily sort of chuckled and elbowed him in the ribs and teased: “In your own time, James,” and he sighed impatiently and requested her to desist enacting actual bodily harm on his person, and she laughed at him, and they were back to normal.

           


End file.
